To my loved ones:

Dear diseased neighbor with bloated belly,

How dare you!  So you feel it’s okay to say that my stomach looks like yours?  You goddamned wench.  I have uterine fibroids.  Thanks for reminding me that I’m accursed!  Yes, I have issue with the fact that I do situps every other day but still appear to have a pot belly at times.  It sucks that this has happened in the last couple of years when I had been able to have pride in a flat stomach into my middle forties, glad to have at least had that, if not big titties — no I don’t really want big titties — but anyway — HOW DARE YOU!  And learn how to air smooch.  When we greet each other, you needn’t plant slobbery diseased lips on the side of my face — ungh! — just threw up in my mouth.

Dear homeless drunken neighbor in wheelchair,

Aw, thanks for offering me Chinese food this evening.  But how the fuck you can afford to offer me dinner when you’re homeless is beyond me.  I dunno but it was a sweet gesture nonetheless.  During my winter hiatus, don’t forget that offer please, as I may be broke and have to take you up on it.  We’ll have a very “scenic” dinner in the park, overlooking the Hudson River.

Dear other homeless neighbor,

Sorry I said bad things about you and your wife in another post that I wrote about the homeless people in this neighborhood.  I’ll eat those words — I swear.  I come home every day to you sitting by the park playing chess tournaments with locals.  I suck ass in chess and think that you could teach me lots.  Mr. Homeless Man, can I please play with you?  I promise I have no qualms about touching communal chess pieces.  You’re obviously a respected member of the community and I should kick myself for being such a dick — or shall I say — such a twat.

Dear “Jane”,

I’m so so sorry.  Had I known you would be going around offering free pussy to average looking men, I would have coached you better.  I hope you’re living a happy life now, and that all that had occurred between us is behind you.  I love you.  P.S.  Please stop dying your hair orange just so that you don’t look like me anymore.  It makes you look, crack-whorish.

Yours, all y’all,

Aunt Sandee

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

In one hour I’m taking a sleeping pill.  For those who glaze over when they read – I’m taking JUST ONE pill – this isn’t a suicide note.  I don’t want to but if I don’t sleep tonight I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.  My sleeping has been irregular for a bit and I know I’ll get a grip on it but for now since I’m working again, I have to make sure to get a good night’s sleep. Today was miserable because I slept only three or so hours and I had to go to work.  On little sleep everyone is ugly, mean, and out to get me.  Besides I made a poor decision not to wear a belt so my pants were hanging down on my ass, so I was very uncomfortable all day.  I had a long shirt on so one couldn’t get a good look at my butt crack.

Oh I know exactly what it is.  I don’t want to go to sleep because I have unfinished business.  It only takes some psychological tweaking on my part, but the process takes too long. So I have the pills just in case of an emergency.  They are a last resort.

I’m pumping this out at the last minute just so that I keep it moving.  This blog has provided a great outlet for me and I crack me up (especially what I wrote about Mrs. Flynn and Royal Dansk Danish Butter Cookies), if not anyone else – hey, that’s the way it should be.  Though I’m getting what I consider to be a good amount of hits on my blog.  If only these same people would go out and buy my book, but that’s another story.  Oh yes, and my sister’s my number one fan – love her to death!  I had some meatier things to say but I’m too tired to flesh them out – get it – “flesh them out” – hahahahaha – told you I cracked me up!  So.  I’m off.  Have a goodnight, and I’ll talk to you later…

The Sword-chinned bitch who will hopefully get some Zs…